I Am, I Feel
by neomaxizoomdweebie
Summary: A short angstyfluffdarkish account of Draco's feelings and thoughts as he lays in his bedroom in Malfoy Mansion.


Title: I Am, I Feel  
  
Author: Miss T  
  
Spoilers: None, really.  
  
Rating: PG13 – it's also quite dark so be warned, my friend cried at the first draft of this!   
  
Main characters: Draco, Lucius, Harry  
  
Notes: it's a bit dark, and D/H slash is implied. Its also very mushy – apologies there! Hehe   
  
Disclaimer: Draco, Lucius or Harry don't belong to me *stamps foot* :P they all belong to JKR. Lucky woman. Hehe.  
  
Dedicated to: anyone who appreciates beauty in destruction (whoa, deep man! lol)  
  
Draco lay across the velvety warmth of his bed sheets, listening to the gentle hum of distant violins and the rasp of his own breath.  
  
His back waved with pain as the mattress pressed lightly onto it, feeling the bruise build up where his Father had thrown his cane at him when he answered him back earlier in the day.  
  
He turned sideways, glaring at his apathetic reflection in the mirror on his bedroom wall. As always, he looked deathly pale and his white blonde hair blended into the colour of his pallid complexion. There were light grey shadows under his eyes, which had now developed thin films of redness. He hadn't slept in days. *Tick tock tick tock – stay awake long enough and I might fly*  
  
He felt… empty. Which almost felt good, because it was better than feeling pain. When he was alone and locked inside his bedroom no memory of pain could bash it's way through the door. It was just him, alone – how it was always meant to be. No sudden cruelty of being cuffed around the wrists and thrown against the wall for having a potty mouth, he could say what he wanted here – think what he wanted.   
  
"Why can't you do anything right, boy?!" Lucius would yell into his ear as he fought back the red hot tears behind his eye sockets. But no – tears wouldn't save him. It would only land him in deeper.  
  
*Crying is a sign of weakness.*  
  
And then there was his mother. She didn't hit him. Or even verbally abuse him. She just pretended he didn't exist. Like he was some sort of mistake, a dirty mark on a white sheet of parchment, a burden of shame, like the bruise she wore on her left temple marking the mistake she made of giving birth to him. The mark Lucius would remake to remind her he didn't want this child.  
  
*Crying is a sign of weakness.*  
  
Draco held his hands above his face, admiring his wrists. Reddened with finger marks and tainted with shallow cuts, the bones looked as if they could pop out at any second.  
  
Sure, anyone would assume that Draco was naturally scrawny, small framed and owned a high metabolism. The truth was, he refused to eat when he was at home. Scared his Father had poisoned it for some reason. The only time he ever ate was during his time at school.  
  
The cigarette in his hand was burning down, untouched, ready to fall off at the end and leave a dusty mark on his pillow. Pulling it with great effort to his mouth and taking in a deep draw, he stubbed it out on his dresser and watched the faint swirls of white smoke ebb from his mouth and nostrils, embracing the heights of his ceiling and filling the air with the smell of cloves and tobacco.  
  
*Tired… so tired…*  
  
Rubbing his left hand over his face, Draco groaned and admired the tiny stars twinkling in the sky, outside his window.  
  
*Sleep and I might never make it… jump and I might learn to fly*  
  
He closed his eyes and saw –his- face. Glaring back at him, blankly. His eyes were as green as emeralds, the scar on his reflected the fragility of his power. Sneering and sitting up, Draco opened the dark mahogany crate at the end of his bed, and dragged out his broom stick.  
  
Reaching into his pocket, he squinted in the dark as he read the torn piece of parchment that was now in his hand.  
  
Draco, fly with me. We both know how to be free.  
  
Quietly prying his window open and mounting his broom, Draco set off into the night, leaving the note from Harry on his bed.   
  
*Jump and I might learn to fly – love and I might learn to be free*  
  
--- Ok, ok – I know its mush – but I couldn't help myself!! --- 


End file.
